A Natural Progression
by KinkyWings
Summary: Barry doesn't remember when it started happening. He doesn't remember how it started happening either, but after the fifth or sixth time Barry wakes up in bed next to Oliver Queen, he stops questioning it. Not that he regrets it. Because he doesn't. Not a single moment.


A/N: Don't judge, but I'm going to be brutally honest with y'all. I was exploring the gay section of pornhub and came across a minute-long clip that just screamed Barry/Oliver. It's what inspired this one-shot. I normally don't dabble in the Arrowverse, but this was preoccupying my mind for wayyyyyy too long. Hope you loves enjoy! XOXOX!

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A Natural Progression

Barry doesn't remember when it started happening.

He doesn't remember how it started happening either, but after the fifth or sixth time Barry wakes up in bed next to Oliver Queen, he stops questioning it.

Not that he regrets it. Because he doesn't. Not a single moment.

What started as a bone-deep desperation to combat crippling loneliness becomes some unspoken, understood _thing_ that has them coming back to each other time and time again. It used to just be after hard nights, the particularly hellish ones where they had no one else to go to who could really understand what it meant to carry the weight of the world on weary shoulders. Who knew what it took to comfort the overwhelming crush of failure. Who knew what that look of defeat meant and how to make the rest of the world disappear, if only for a moment.

Months went by and the occasional nights turned into weekly occurrences, which then turned into Barry making space in his bathroom for all of Oliver's fancy products and Oliver clearing out a drawer in his massive bureau for Barry to keep spare clothes in case he oversleeps. Which he does. Often.

 _(Super speed is good for_ something _other than catching criminals.)_

But the weirdest, most surreal part of the entire arrangement is how it's not weird...at all.

Barry and Oliver have always had this... _connection_. Oliver was Barry's mentor, the first one who stepped up to show him the ropes of what it meant to truly be a hero, and in return, Barry showed Oliver what it meant to truly be human. Oliver was the only one who didn't make Barry feel like he was crazy, even from the beginning when the Man in Yellow was a boogeyman and Metahumans were a thing of science fiction. Then his mentor betrayed him, his father died, Iris died, and Oliver was the only one who was there for him - the archer heartbroken over his own failed attempt at romance - so it made sense that they would make the leap from partners to lovers.

Not that any of his friends or family understood.

It used to bother him, all the strange looks and whispers and tiptoeing around the sudden change in sexual preference. But Barry long-since stopped giving a fuck what people thought. Oliver made him happy. Oliver made him feel alive. Oliver made the whole superhero thing meaningful again. Oliver was the only one who knew how to fuck Barry so good that he couldn't walk, who could give it to him in ways that no one else could.

Like right now - the two of them on their knees, front to back in the center of Oliver's king sized bed, the penthouse empty except for the sound of their moans and flesh grinding on flesh.

This day had been particularly rough on Oliver, his office filled with staffers spouting their doubts about the choices he had been making as mayor - and _oh_ , if those narrow-minded sharks in suits really knew the sacrifices that brilliant man made to keep Star City safe, they would all _beg_ for his forgiveness. It made Barry's blood boil that no one could see Oliver for the man he truly was. So when his lover came home broody and tense and stormy-eyed, Barry surrendered to the storm.

And what a storm Oliver was, fucking up into Barry at a brutal pace, his fingers making indents in the pale hollows of Barry's hips. Not that Barry cares. He loves being manhandled by Oliver, loves how one of Oliver's hands could cover his entire hipbone, how those calloused fingers would tangle in his hair and yank his head back for bruising kisses, how they would trace patterns across his ribcage and flick at his sensitive nipples. The man was such a powerful lover that all Barry could do was arch back and take it, allowing Oliver to reclaim the control he so desperately needs.

"You want my cum, Bar?" Oliver asks, his voice about five octaves deeper than usual and the sound of gravel. "I'm gonna cum."

Barry can barely breathe out a string of _yes, yes, yes_ before Oliver tenses up and spills his load. Hips snap up into Barry's backside and the speedster feels a familiar heat flood through him, causing his whole body to shudder. Oliver's hips stutter through his orgasm, hands trailing idly up and down Barry's body, needing to have him close. When those hands reach down between Barry's legs, the speedster bats them away. This moment is about Oliver's pleasure, not his own.

Oliver marked him well. When the archer pulls out, Barry can feel cum dripping down the backside of his thighs, making him sticky and dirty and oh so horny. Nothing gets Barry worked up like feeling full of Oliver, and the speedster's cock is still painfully hard, the shaft curved up against his abdomen.

Strong hands grab hold of Barry's shoulders and guide him to lie down, his head hitting the ridiculously soft pillows. Oliver insists on having silk sheets and memory foam, so it's impossible for Barry to do anything other than melt into the mattress, his legs naturally falling open. Oliver finds a home there, crawling between the Speedster's legs, nose nudging at the firm plane of his abdomen, then further to nuzzle at the sensitive skin of his inner thighs. Barry's breath hitches, anticipating what comes after each southward kiss.

Perfectly red, kiss-swollen lips part over the tip of Barry's cock and suck him down without preamble. Barry throws his head back and screws his eyes shut while Oliver works him over with experienced finesse. As much as Barry loves the sight of Oliver between his legs, it's too much. If he looks down to see his lover now, this will all be over, and Barry wants to make this last. He wants to savor every second he spends in the wet heat of Oliver's mouth.

Of course, the archer is very skilled at everything he does, and giving head is no exception. Oliver makes it a point to do all the things Barry likes: he takes Barry in deep and fast, humming around the shaft as he works him, the vibrations pushing Barry closer and closer to the edge. His entire body is a tightly-wound coil, humming and buzzing to the tune of Oliver.

Barry comes and it feels like every molecule in his body is imploding. The feeling is more exhilarating than running, more powerful than the Speed Force. His entire being unravels and he collapses, only to be put back together at Oliver's soothing touch.

Those strong hands pet at his trembling thighs, massage his taut muscles, stroke adoringly over his knuckles to entwine their fingers. It's so grossly domestic that it makes Barry's heart lurch. He leans in for a kiss and can taste himself on Oliver's tongue, salty and bitter, but he does not mind. Barry's far too happy to give a damn.

"I've been meaning to ask - where did you learn to give such good blowjobs?" Barry asked, his voice filled with warmth and post-coital bliss. His smile is so wide and dopey it hurts, but he can't stop it. He has smiled more in these past few weeks with Oliver than he has in a long time.

"Five years in hell, you learn a few things," Oliver answers vaguely, his tone just as warm - no sign of any of the previous doom and gloom. He has become softer around the edges, less guarded, but there are still some things Oliver keeps close to the chest.

"Giving head was a necessary survival skill?"

Oliver merely shrugs and arches an eyebrow. Barry lets this one go. It's not a story Oliver is willing to part with today, nor is it one worth pressing for. The speedster was only joking after all. It doesn't matter what Oliver did in his past. All that matters is that he's here, now.

"Learn anything else on that island?"

Oliver gives Barry a lopsided smile before leaning down and pulling him into a kiss.

Before anything can progress, a cellphone buzzes, rattling across the mahogany end table.

"Let it go to voicemail," Barry groans as Oliver rolls over on his side to pick it up.

Of course, Oliver does not listen, proceeding slide his finger across the illuminated screen and take the call. He pushes himself out of the bed as the voice on the other end starts chatting - _Felicity,_ Barry recognizes as the high-pitched trill of the overly-eager technical genius rambles on. Oliver's tumultuous relationship with his ex-fiancée was unusual at that. Barry would have been jealous of their continued closeness had Felicity not started dating some new detective on the Star City Police Force. Dinah Drake...was that her name? It was hard to keep track of all the people wandering in and out of Oliver Queen's hectic life.

The only constants were the OG Team Arrow and Barry.

The call ends and Oliver tosses the phone back on the end table, but he does not return to bed. Instead, he looks out over the city from his ridiculous view on the penthouse floor, admiring the view while Barry admires the view of Oliver's perfectly sculpted ass. It should be illegal for someone to be as ripped as Oliver, but Barry wasn't going to complain. Not when he's the one who gets to ogle naked Oliver whenever he wants.

"William's science fair went well," Oliver finally says, still facing the glassy walls. "His project won second place overall, even beat out some winners from previous years. He's going to state."

"That's amazing," Barry replies, and he means it. From what Oliver's told, William sounds like one hell of a kid. That, and he makes Oliver go soft around the edges, like someone has melted down the rest of his iron-clad defenses. "You should be proud."

"I am."

Barry knows Oliver well enough now to hear the longing in his voice, the ache that will never leave from missing years upon years of his only son's life. And he keeps missing things, forgoing the science fair to make sure Star City didn't fall to shambles. Guilt builds upon guilt, and Barry wants nothing more than to wipe it away.

"Man, I remember my first science fair," Barry reminisces, throwing his arms behind his head and staring up at the ceiling, letting old memories play out. "I wanted to do a study on the pH of soil, so my mom helped me grow all these plants. For a month, my house looked like a jungle. The day I went to present, my dad drove me to the school and talked about the importance of proper data collection the entire way there. I think I was more nervous during that twenty-minute car ride than I ever was during the whole month."

"What happened?"

"I won fourth place and got a little green ribbon to put on my wall. My mom wouldn't stop bragging about me for days," Barry says proudly, a smile quirking up his lips. The lingering stab of grief over the death of his mother would always stay with him, but it was nothing in comparison to the joy of such a treasured memory. "Joe might still have it in a box somewhere."

Oliver seems to like the story, his blue eyes gentle as he finally turns to look at Barry.

"Felicity is bringing William by now," he says, and Barry takes that as his cue to leave. He's half way off the bed when Oliver reaches out and grasps at Barry's wrist, holding him gently in place. "I think you two would get along."

"You do?" Barry asks, careful not to sound too hopeful.

It's not that they've been keeping their relationship a secret per say. Neither of them liked the word; it made this thing feel dirty, complicated when it was anything but. They just didn't make a big deal out of things. They kept their private life private, and that meant keeping things away from William. Barry had yet to meet Oliver's teenage son, but he can't help the strain on his heart at the possibility of taking this monumental step.

"Why wouldn't you? You have a lot of interests in common - science and mathematics..." Oliver lists, sitting down on the bed so that Barry could come and straddle his lap. His hands run up and down the warm skin of Barry's ribcage, feeling the lithe man's body vibrate with constant energy. "Besides, William is a pretty big fan of The Flash."

"Really?" Barry asks, unable to stop the teasing in his tone. His grin is so wide it hurts. "Even more than the Green Arrow?"

Oliver grumbles, and Barry takes that as a yes. His arms snake up to wrap around Oliver's neck, pulling their foreheads in close. For a man who prides himself on stoicism, it's comical how fast the archer's moods can change.

"Don't worry," Barry soothes, lips brushing gently against Oliver's. "You're still my favorite superhero."

Laughter escapes both of them, and they fall back onto the bed in a mess of tangled limbs.

They've got time before William shows up, and Barry plans on making the most of every minute.


End file.
